


Layback Ina Bauer

by triggerswaggiehavoc



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotions, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Slow Romance, Some Humor, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 18:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13863249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerswaggiehavoc/pseuds/triggerswaggiehavoc
Summary: There is something beautifully lonely about skating. The world is reduced to two things only—the skater and the ice—yet somehow, they fill it up.





	Layback Ina Bauer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soonhan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soonhan/gifts).



> lovely lianne, i hope you enjoy this. i know i promised you teachers (and maybe someday you will still get that) but for now, please take this and hold it with as much love as you can. i hope i did soonhan as much justice as you wanted for them, and i hope this adds to the tag more than takes away from it! love you bunches!
> 
> a few disclaimers:  
> -this was not inspired by yuri on ice (which i have never seen still), but instead by me watching 30 videos in a row of yuzuru hanyu skating and being struck by inspiration (yay olympics!)  
> -i have obviously never figure skated professionally in any way and actually fall down at the regular old rink with my friends, so please bear with me. i did my best to research and everything, but obviously there's still shit i don't know! please kindly suspend your disbelief. i hope you enjoy!!

There is something beautifully lonely about skating. The world is reduced to two things only—the skater and the ice—yet somehow, they fill it up. The vast expanse of unblemished white beneath two blades that tear it to dust, and one soul gliding around in empty loops, jumping only to land again, escaping only to return. When Jeonghan skates, there is nothing but the ice and him, nothing but the cold sinking in through his skin. He finds peace in that simplicity.

Skating is everything he hates; he can’t stand the cold, and he never particularly wanted to be an athlete. But the feeling of skating, of turning and having the world turn with him, of sailing alone in a sea far too large for a single ship, is what draws him back to it. That feeling that he’s connected to nothing and everything at the same time, the chilled redness in his cheeks. When he skates, his chest is full and his body is light, and in that beautiful loneliness, he feels most like himself.

Originally, his parents had signed him up for it out of desperation. They were determined to get him involved in some sort of extracurricular when he was a kid, something that might yield a scholarship down the road if only he kept it up, and after the failures of swimming and soccer, their next try was ice skating. Jeonghan still remembers his first time in the rink.

He’d been about nine or ten, and his balance was a little worse than the average nine or ten year old’s, but something about the ice felt comfortable from the very beginning; maybe the way it seemed to go on forever and turn back around on itself, or the way the white was so bright it almost made him tear up. Even when he fell, he still thought there was something compelling about just being out in the rink. Bruised knees and stinging palms, he still wanted to get up and keep going, and in his young brain, he thought maybe that might have been what love was.

Given his natural tendency toward laziness and inactivity, it took everyone by surprise when he was good. Sure, he was the same as any other kid when he started, clumsy and uncertain, but he picked it up abnormally quickly, and soon he was outpacing the rest of them. Jeonghan is sure it’s mostly because this was something he really wanted to be good at. When his parents gave him chances to quit, he always told them no, and somewhere it turned into a privilege, where skating was a gift and he had to keep his grades up to earn it. So he kept them up.

When he turned thirteen, he entered the juniors circuit to start competing, and he learned that there were a lot of other kids who were good because they wanted to be, who were outpacing their peers the same way he had been. All it did was make him want to get even better. By the time he was aging out of the junior division, he was sweeping up medals most everywhere he went, and it was those continuous podium spots that got the attention of coaches and programs. When he graduated high school, he did so with a hefty scholarship to a school a long way from home and a coach named Dennis who promised to make him into the best skater he could be. Now he’s out of school, but Dennis is still around.

“Alright,” he breathes, skating back toward Jeonghan. “I think that’s enough for today. Get some rest, and I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, chief,” Jeonghan says with a salute. “I’ll just skate another lap or two around to warm down.” Dennis narrows his eyes.

“Alright,” he allows, “but don’t stay too long.” He sees right through Jeonghan’s innocent smile and throws his arm around the empty rink. “They’re waiting on us.”

“Only a minute,” Jeonghan promises. After Dennis is out of sight, he starts his laps.

Nationals will be here before they know it, and he’s getting to the point where he doesn’t have anything else on his mind. Last year he took silver, but this year, he wants gold. If he can get gold, there’s a good chance they’ll send him to the Olympics. He wants to go. He’s always wanted to go, and Dennis knows. And he also knows Jeonghan’s chances of gold will be even better if he can get the quadruple Lutz down, but he’s hesitant to start practicing it. They still have plenty of time, he keeps saying, but it doesn’t feel like plenty of time. If they never start working on it, it doesn’t matter how much time they have.

Slowly, Jeonghan builds up speed around the ice. He likes practicing when nobody is around, not even Dennis, when the only sounds are his skates slicing the rink and the hum of the building. It’s almost like a competition, a crowd of ghosts waiting breathlessly as he gears up for his first jump. It is a warm down, so he starts with something easy. Double Lutz. It comes and goes like a morning breeze, familiar sensation in his foot as he comes back down onto the ice. No cheers erupt from his empty audience.

Next is the triple Lutz. He can do this one almost just as well, but he still takes his time building up, coasting in a long arc toward the opposite end of the ice before he picks up into it. For a moment, he spins through the air, and then he’s back on one foot again, knee bent low to hold him. And silence. As he makes his way back to the other side again, he exhales, long and even. Dennis will be mad if he finds out Jeonghan’s trying to practice this on his own, but it doesn’t matter. He steels himself and launches into the jump.

Even before he’s in the air, he can tell he won’t make the full revolutions. There’s a sickness in his gut that tells him something is off right away, and he lets it grab hold of him at the knees. He comes back down on the ice half a rotation too early, and it’s a bad landing. A second before he falls over, he manages to regain his balance, and he tilts back upright before his knees have time to go down. Eyes closed, he turns to finish out the rest of his lap and head off. This time, though, there is a sound.

“Wow!” shouts a tiny voice, and when Jeonghan opens his eyes, he sees a figure standing at the far wall, hands clapped over a regretful mouth. Judging by his clothes, he’s one of the employees, probably watching Jeonghan until he leaves so he can start closing up shop. As Jeonghan gets closer, he shrinks into himself but stays rooted to his spot nonetheless.

“Were you watching me?” Jeonghan calls to him, and the guy drops his hands from over his face and beams, just a touch shy.

“I mean, uh.” He scratches the back of his head. “Yeah. I know I’m not really, like, supposed to, but you looked super cool.” His eyes glitter while he speaks, vibrant and alive. Jeonghan skids to a stop and folds his arms over the wall right in front of him. “That last thing you did was awesome.”

“The last thing?” Jeonghan sighs. “Thanks, but I messed it up.”

“It still looked amazing.”

“You just must not know much about skating, huh?” Jeonghan asks, coasting to the next exit and stepping back onto concrete floors. Walking always feels so bizarre and unnatural after skating, and he clomps over awkwardly to sit down on the bench with his bag and change into regular shoes. The staff guy follows him. “I barely even landed. I basically fell down.”

“But you didn’t fall, though!” he gushes. “And you looked awesome!” His smile is wide and charming, and Jeonghan almost believes him. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like, but if it’s any cooler than that, it must be crazy.”

“How can you work here,” Jeonghan begins, undoing the laces on his skates, “and know as little bout skating as you so clearly do?” The smile fades to bashful, but doesn’t quite leave.

“I haven’t worked here that long,” he admits, “and all I really do is clean up and resurface the ice. Today is the first time I’ve actually watched anybody skate.”

“I see.”

As Jeonghan unlaces his skates and sticks his numbing feet into regular shoes, he waits for the guy to leave him alone, but he doesn’t. Rather, he keeps staring, eyes sparkling yet intense, watching Jeonghan’s face carefully until he’s finished changing out his footwear and decides to stare back. Most would shy back from staring at a time like this, but this guy isn’t one of them. After a while of looking into his eyes, Jeonghan starts to feel something bizarre welling up inside his lungs, and he coughs.

“What?” he asks, and the guy just blinks without averting his gaze.

“You look so familiar,” he answers, softly. “I’ve seen you somewhere, I just don’t know where.”

“I practice here every day,” Jeonghan reminds him.

“That’s not it! I just told you I’ve never seen any of the skaters here,” the man grumbles, frowning. The way he’s sitting, face scrunched in thought, he looks like a little kid. “God, I can’t remember. I just _know_ I recognize your fa—oh!” He snaps his fingers, and his face returns to smiling in a second. “That commercial! You’re the guy in the FitWear commercial!”

“Ah.” Jeonghan forgot about that. One of the perks of doing well is sponsorship—he’s in a few other commercials, too, and on the odd cereal box—but he always forgets he’s in them until he sees one, or more commonly, until his mother sees one and calls to tell him about it. It’s undeniably jarring to be recognized as an athletic wear spokesperson over an actual athlete. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Wow, so you’re, like, famous? What’s your name?” But he flails his arms before Jeonghan can answer. “Wait, no, wait, it’s in the commercial. I know it already.” Jeonghan raises his eyebrows and waits while his company thinks, eyes squeezed shut and fingers to temples. After a while, he ventures, “Junyoung?”

“Not quite.”

“Junyoon? Jinhwan?”

“You’re close.” The guy claps enthusiastically.

“Jeonghan!” he cries, proud, and Jeonghan can’t help the grin that comes to his lips.

“You got it.”

“Wow,” his companion whistles, leaning back on the bench. “I can’t believe I met a real life famous person. Wait ‘til I tell my mom.” He smiles at Jeonghan for another second before straightening up and extending his hand. “Sorry. I’m Soonyoung, by the way.”

“Good to meet you.” Jeonghan grabs his hand to shake, but it’s disarmingly soft, and he ends up just holding it for a second before letting go and rising to his feet. Still, the ground beneath him feels so much less solid than the ice. “Well, I’ll leave now so you can get to work. See you around.”

“See you,” Soonyoung calls as he walks off. “Thanks for letting me watch you skate! It was cool!” Not like there’s much Jeonghan could have done to stop him, though. Instead of bringing that up, he continues walking toward the exit lobby. Behind him, he hears the sound of the ice resurfacer coming to life, the thrum of its slow journey in returning the rink to perfect blankness.

 

Competitions are a rush of all sorts of emotions. On one hand, Jeonghan hates them for how stressful they are, for how hard he has to work to prepare for them, for the early flights he has to take and the sleep he misses out on worrying over the details of the program, over his mental state and his health, over whether he’s in the perfect condition for all the jumps in the routine. On the other hand, they are his favorite thing about skating, the only reason he keeps doing it.

For the short program, he only has about three minutes to show the judges everything he’s got to offer, and for the free skate, only four-and-a-half. A little bit more than seven minutes is not very much time at all, though any more would have Jeonghan heaving on the ground. Before he skates out, he’s a bundle of nerves around a fraying skeleton, but the moment he leaves the waiting area, there is nothing in the world but himself and the ice, no sound but his skates, no movement but his own.

Even when the music starts, he barely hears it. Instead, he feels it in his muscles, the heartbeat of the universe resonating through his body and guiding him through the routine turn by turn. When he makes the first jump, the audience cheers, but it comes to him like muted static through a dying radio. All he can pay attention to is whether he’s landed, and even if he falls, all he can do is keep going. He follows the rest of the routine almost without thinking, relying on his body to remember what it’s been practicing for so long, blind to everything but the too-large spread of ice around him. Every turn, every jump, every spin. He feels every motion as the chill sets in through his thin performance outfits.

Near the end of the program, when he’s completed the final jump and returned to the ice for the rest of his performance, the music starts to come back to him. It’s then, just before the close, that he does his most signature move. As he glides across the ice, feet parallel on outside edges, he bends back, chest toward the sky, and stretches his arms out to his sides. The roar of the crowd finally meets him, overwhelming above the music, and this is when he feels most connected: to the ice, the crowd, himself. He continues into a final spin, and as the world stills around him, it grows back to encompass everything. The crowd rises in front of him, and they are calling his name, applauding wildly. Bouquets of flowers cascade down to the ice around him. After a rough program, all he can do is smile up at them, tired. After a clean program, he wants to cry.

He falls into a weird haze between competitions, when he’s gotten over the relief of finishing the last one but isn’t quite on to worrying about the next one yet. It’s this funk that he’s in now, with nationals just far off enough to start thinking about but not close enough to have him totally worried, and Dennis can tell it’s getting to him. He eyes him up carefully as they end the following day’s practice; Jeonghan is itching to bring up the quad Lutz, but he can tell he won’t get anywhere.

“Have you thought about winding down?” Dennis asks him.

“What do you mean?” Jeonghan says, turning in soft loops. “I am wound down.”

“You need to find something to do aside from skate,” he says. “Something you can think about at home so you only have to think about skating here.”

“I like thinking about skating at home.”

“I know you do,” Dennis sighs, “but I think it’ll be better for your focus in the long run if you don’t spread yourself so thin thinking about it all the time.” Jeonghan frowns. “Don’t look at me like that.” He skates over to Jeonghan and grabs his shoulder to still him. “Just a hobby. That’s all I’m asking for.” His gaze turns serious. “I know you want the quad Lutz. We’ll work on it. But I need you to promise to try evening yourself out.”

Jeonghan is so taken aback by Dennis bringing up the quad Lutz that he loses all power of thought. “Okay,” he says. “Fine.” When Dennis grins at him and pats his arm, it’s too late to take it back.

“Let’s wrap up for today then,” he says. Jeonghan remains completely motionless on the ice while he watches his back recede.

A distraction. Dennis can call it a hobby all day, but a distraction is a distraction, and Jeonghan knows it. Distractions are not conducive to skating. If he spikes up into a jump and lets his mind wander, he’ll almost certainly botch the landing, and a botched landing could be as harmless as points deducted or as harmful as an ankle fracture. The very last thing Jeonghan needs is a distraction.

Yet the quad Lutz is on the table. Dennis is too quick to be fooled if he tries to lie about it, and he’s too stubborn to fold even if Jeonghan doesn’t do anything. There’s nothing Jeonghan can do, he guesses, but follow Dennis’ advice and dilute his attention. Maybe he’s onto something—he has been skating longer than Jeonghan’s been alive—but Jeonghan still doesn’t want him to be right. He huffs and turns a small circle on the whiteness below him before skating off to the bench.

“You’re not going to do anything cool today?” a voice asks. It’s Soonyoung’s. His tone is very distinct, voice somehow obvious even though Jeonghan’s only talked to him once, and his lips are curving down toward a pout when Jeonghan’s eyes find him.

“When did you get here?” Jeonghan asks.

“A few minutes ago,” Soonyoung tells him. “I thought you would do something cool again after your old guy left.” Jeonghan snorts.

“He’s my coach, not my old guy.”

“Huh,” Soonyoung muses, thumbing at his chin. Without warning, he brightens. “Oh, yeah! I googled you the other day,” he says. “You’re pretty cool, huh? You’re, like, a total bigshot.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, totally.” Soonyoung wiggles with excitement. “I saw videos, too. That cool thing you did the other day looks even cooler when you land right.”

“You really don’t know anything,” Jeonghan hums, leaning back on his palms to appraise Soonyoung.

“Well, that’s a little harsh.”

“I’ve never landed the thing I tried the other day,” Jeonghan explains. Soonyoung looks completely lost, and Jeonghan sighs. To the untrained eye, he guesses they probably all look the same. “I’ve never even tried it out officially during practice.”

“Really?” Soonyoung whistles. “Why not?”

“Because it’s hard.” Jeonghan lets out a heavy breath. “But Dennis isn’t even gonna let me start working on it until I get a ‘hobby.’”

“What do you mean, until you get a hobby?”

“He said I have to have one.”

“But you have to have at least one already.” Soonyoung’s forehead wrinkles in abundant confusion, and he seems so invested in understanding that it keeps Jeonghan fully rooted to his seat on the bench. Not even his hands move to untie his skates further. “Like, what do you do whenever you’re at home?”

“Sleep,” Jeonghan answers quickly. Soonyoung stares back at him.

“What else?”

“That’s it. I just sleep.”

“That’s not very athletic.”

“I’m not very athletic.”

Soonyoung opens his mouth to respond but winds up leaving his jaw hanging, thumb ghosting over his bottom lip. “Maybe sleeping is sort of a hobby,” he says at length. For the first time in a long while, Jeonghan feels like he’s being seen as pathetic. It hurts him somewhere strange.

“Dennis doesn’t think it counts because I don’t have to think about it.” Jeonghan stares at Soonyoung for another minute before breaking free of his stillness and loosening his skates. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you about this.”

“Hey, wait,” Soonyoung says, reaching for the end of Jeonghan’s sleeve. His grip is tentative but insistent, grabbing only by the fingers. “What about watching movies? It’s basically as easy as sleeping, but you still have to think about them.” Jeonghan hums. Against his wrist, Soonyoung’s fingertips are soft.

“Maybe I could do that,” he says. He’s never been much of a movie watcher. “What should I watch?”

“What kind do you like?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan says. “I _like_ sleeping.”

“Haven’t you ever seen a movie?” Soonyoung near-shouts, aghast.

“Not in a long time.” The blank way Soonyoung stares at him is uncomfortable, makes his skin feel too tight. “I don’t have to take this. Don’t you have a job to do? I’m leaving.” He yanks his sleeve back and turns to walk away again, but his wrist is ensnared by another hand right away.

“Wait a second,” Soonyoung says softly. His palm is soft and warm, and Jeonghan is shocked by how comfortable it feels on his skin. He can’t remember the last time he touched anyone who wasn’t Dennis or his family, and thinking about that makes him feel weird. “Why don’t you go see _Space Advancers_ with me?”

“See what?”

“It just came out,” Soonyoung explains, “and I really want to go see it, but I don’t wanna go by myself.” The lights reflecting in his eyes make him look so hopeful. “If you don’t like it, then you’ll at least know what you don’t like to watch, right?” Jeonghan sighs.

“Right,” he agrees. And he knows he’s only saying this because Soonyoung is cute. “I’ll go see it with you.”

“Hooray!” Soonyoung cheers. “When do you not have practice?”

“It’ll be easier if you tell me when you don’t have work.”

 

Jeonghan stands outside the movie theater with his hands shoved into his pockets, watching the streetlights come to life around him. Since he always trains during the day and Soonyoung always works at night, the only time they have to go see the movie is when Soonyoung has a day off, after Jeonghan’s already done for the day. His muscles ache to be laid to rest for the evening, but he stands outside waiting for Soonyoung anyway. The bench nearby looks tempting, but it’s already occupied, and on the off chance he’s recognized, he’d rather not spend any energy talking.

Before long, he sees a silhouette skipping toward him in the distance that can’t possibly be anyone but Soonyoung, and the sight makes him unexpectedly glad. He’s excited to go inside to the warmth, excited to get off his feet, yet that can’t quite make up for all the thrumming behind his ribs when Soonyoung’s face comes into focus, when he sees that blinding smile sitting on it.

“Sorry,” Soonyoung blusters as he jogs up closer. “You’re so on time.” His cheeks are dyed a glowing pink that crawls over his neck and toward his ears, and the theater’s sign reflects a tiny version of itself in each eye. “Now I feel late.”

“Let’s just go inside,” Jeonghan huffs, already edging toward the door. With a stunted giggle, Soonyoung follows him.

Despite having just come out, the theater for the movie isn’t very full, teetering around half capacity. Soonyoung leads them into a row much closer to the screen than Jeonghan thinks they need to sit, but he follows anyway and slots himself into the seat beside Soonyoung. Most of the other audience members have the same sort of excited look in their eyes, the same hunched shoulders, and Jeonghan feels very out of place among them. Sitting up straight, he feels more like an athlete than he ever has.

“Are you excited?” Soonyoung whispers to him. Jeonghan shrugs and shrinks down in the seat a bit. He feels like he’s sticking out too much.

“I guess,” he whispers back. “What is this movie even about?”

“Well,” Soonyoung begins, “it’s actually kind of a spin-off of a different series called _Ray Eternal_ , which is based off a comic series, which is about this guy whose family got separated from him on a transgalactic flight, only they were actually abducted, so he—wait.” He adjusts himself a little in his seat, and then his elbow is bumping against Jeonghan’s on the armrest. “Do you care about spoilers?”

“You think I’m going to go watch it?”

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung huffs. “Maybe if you like _Space Advancers_ , you’ll want to. Anyway, this is about, like, the people who help Ray, but before they knew him, which is—wait, it’s starting.”

What’s actually starting is the first preview, but Soonyoung stops talking all the same, which is unfortunate, because Jeonghan thought they were finally getting somewhere. None of the previews look that interesting, but he watches them because he has no choice, Soonyoung riveted beside him the entire time in anticipation.

When the movie does actually start, Jeonghan isn’t sure what to make of it. As the title indicated, it seems very sci-fi, and the opening screen font gives off the vibe that the movie should have come out sixteen years ago rather than recently. Most of the time, he tries to figure out what he’s watching. There are a lot of jokes, or he assumes they’re jokes, at least, because they make the whole theater laugh, but he doesn’t get why. In truth, he wants to like it, but there’s too much going on that he’s miles from understanding. By the time he thinks he finally understands where the movie began, the end credits are rolling.

Soonyoung is in a good mood, too good to go straight home, he says, so he offers to treat Jeonghan to dinner. They go to a small place not far from the theater, a little dinner with a parking lot barely big enough to serve it, and Jeonghan only realizes how hungry he is once they’re inside. His stomach rumbles at him angrily while he peruses the menu for something that won’t cost too much and also won’t be too unhealthy. Unfortunately, not much seems in line with option two.

“What did you think?” Soonyoung asks him, shining. “Did you like it?” He looks so much different now than he does when Jeonghan usually sees him. Maybe it’s because he’s just happier not to be at work, or maybe it’s because the rink’s lights don’t suit him quite as well. It may be some mixture of both. Jeonghan feels a tug in his stomach that isn’t hunger.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “I didn’t really know what was going on most of the time.” Soonyoung frowns. “You didn’t even finish explaining it to me.”

“I didn’t want to spoil anything!” he bumbles, ears red again. “Do you want to watch the original series? I have them all. Or maybe you’d rather read the comics? I can lend them to you.” When Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, his enthusiasm fades. “Or maybe you’re just not even interested. Which is also fine, I guess.”

“I’m not _not_ interested,” Jeonghan mumbles. The pout on Soonyoung’s face is dangerous in how it makes him feel so guilty. “Thanks for taking me with you to see it, anyway.” He brightens back up instantly.

“Sure thing,” he says. “It’s pretty cool. I kinda feel like I’m on a date with a celebrity.”

It is like a date, Jeonghan guesses. More like a date than anything else he’s done recently. Soonyoung paying for his food doesn’t make it less like a date, either. It’s been a long time since he’d had space in his schedule for dates or things like them, and while he doesn’t know whether Soonyoung is being very serious or not, he does know that his chest feels a little different now. Across from him, Soonyoung only grins. Neither of them notice when their server arrives.

While they eat, Jeonghan takes the chance to ask Soonyoung more about _Space Advancers_ , though he doesn’t expect to get much of anywhere with the way Soonyoung goes about answering them. Everything he says starts with _in the comics_ or _in the original trilogy_ , and everything ends with a foray into the deeper aspects of some obscure plot point Jeonghan still doesn’t have the basic foundation to understand. Fruitlessly, he tries to steer back to the most basic points.

“So what about that part at the beginning of the movie,” he tries, “where everybody laughed? And there was, like, that big… thing.” Soonyoung laughs a little just remembering it.

“That was a reference to the very first movie,” he sighs, dreamy, “but it’s really hard to explain if you haven’t seen it. It was so clever of the directors to put that in, too.”

“I see,” Jeonghan hums. As Soonyoung looks back at him over a plate of fries, his grin dwindles.

“You hated it, huh?” he says, glum. “And you’re bored of me talking about it.”

“I’m not.” Jeonghan alternates tapping at both sides of his plate, moving it back and forth just enough to keep it in the same spot. “I just, you know… you’re really bad at answering questions.”

“What?” Soonyoung shouts.

“I just want to know the general stuff, you know? I’m confused.” The plate continues its inconsequential journey, left and right and back again. “I want to know what’s going on in the first place. All you did was tell me all about the structure of the, uh… Emerald Brigade.”

“The Ellen Battalion?”

“Right. And I still don’t know what that is, so it doesn’t really help.”

Soonyoung hums and looks at Jeonghan for a long time. His eyes have a way of taking everything else out of the picture when Jeonghan looks into them, of making him feel so isolated and so seen like he’s used to and like he’s not. All the air in the diner is stirring, and Soonyoung still looks at him. He always looks for a long time, too, like he’s very intent to see. A breath ghosts out through his lips.

“I guess,” he allows. “Maybe I keep getting distracted.” He’s cute when he pouts. “So what do you want me to tell you about?”

“Just everything, I guess.” Jeonghan’s hands come to rest on either side of the plate. “From the beginning.”

“That’s a lot to cover,” Soonyoung muses, eyebrows drawn. “Like, eight movies and four-hundred volumes worth.”

“We don’t have to get through all of it today.”

When he says that, he watches tiny flares catch beneath Soonyoung’s eyelashes, and the air is so light and so heavy around his shoulders. Warmth sinks into his bones from Soonyoung’s smile. He launches into his first explanation, hands wild and animated, voice buttery and excited, and Jeonghan thinks he has found himself a hobby after all. It’s not until he lies in bed to go to sleep that night that he realizes he hasn’t spared a second to think about skating.

 

“You look like you’re in good shape,” Dennis tells him at the end of practice. His eyes glow with a sort of fatherly pride as he watches Jeonghan land another quad Salchow, the fifth of five. Jeonghan grins while he catches his breath.

“You think?” he asks.

“Looks like you took my advice,” is all he says, meeting Jeonghan’s grin with his own. For a long while, he stands silent. Then he coughs. “So let’s talk about that Lutz, then.”

When Jeonghan started learning how to do jumps as a kid, his coach put him into a sort of harness to lift him, first in a training room and then on the ice, to get used to the feeling of being in the air and the disorientation of spinning. Every time he adds a rotation, they go back to that beginning stage to work on the feeling before trying it out unaided in the rink. Even though it’s been a while since the last time they used it, he can still remember the feeling.

He’d been nervous about trying the jump the first time and awkward in the restraints, stomach clenched with nerves as his coach pulled him up into the air, but somehow, he felt free. Of course, jumping on his own felt infinitely freer, no coach tethering him to the ground, nothing but the air around him staying still as he spun through it, nothing but the ice waiting below and the empty sound of blood rushing through his own body. The first jump he ever tried on his own, he fell down. The second, too. When he finally did land, he felt like he had the world in his hands.

Though he’s more used to the feeling now, it still gives him that sort of tangled up sensation in the middle of his gut, the cold sweat gathering on the back of his neck. He knows how to turn in the air, how to bring his body in tight and spin as fast as he can, how to bend his knee deep to brace for the landing, but in some ways, it’s still new. There’s always so much to think about with each jump. The revolutions, the landing, the height, speed, momentum. When he takes up to the air, he has to think about all of it and none of it, mind racing and stuck at a standstill, body twirling in hopes that it will be able to catch itself and find balance again. Usually it can.

The trials with the harness go well, mostly because Jeonghan has been trying to do it on his own for months, but they still don’t test it out on the ice for a while. Jeonghan is nervous the first time they do, some weeks later. If he can’t get it down well enough, they won’t be able to choreograph it into the free program. Dennis promised he could try it, but he didn’t make any guarantees; he couldn’t, when it all depends on Jeonghan.

Jeonghan breathes out slowly. He builds up speed going around the edge of the rink, warms up with a single Axel, a double loop, and then his entire body is bracing for the attempt. Don’t think about it, he tells himself, but he can’t help but think. In the air, and he wonders if he’s high up enough, if he took off fast enough, if his foot will find its balance in time. In a second, it’s already happened. His knees drag hard across the ice, and he finds his way back to his feet to try again.

Dennis watches him closely as he gears up for another try. Ever since Jeonghan has trained with him, he’s always exerted a strange kind of pressure when he isn’t actively coaching, a weight in the air that makes Jeonghan’s nerves prickle. Back in his day, Dennis was one of the best skaters out there, and while now he’s much older and doesn’t have quite the same physique, he still gives off the vibe of someone looking down from the throne. It’s in his eyes, sharp and dark when he looks on silently. They make Jeonghan feel like he’s trying to sew in front of the inventor of the needle. Again on the second try, he doesn’t quite land.

This time when he gets up, he tries not to focus on Dennis. Instead, he pictures gentler eyes watching him, pictures breath-held excitement rather than careful analysis, a warm smile instead of lips pressed tight together. It is neither Dennis nor an awed crowd of fans. Instead, he pictures an audience of one, quiet and so far away he might not even be watching. It’s Soonyoung.

Now is not a good time to think about Soonyoung, and he knows it, but as he glides back, all he thinks about is the last thing Soonyoung told him about _Ray Eternal_ , something about the layout of the spaceship he was on when he was separated from his family. Jeonghan doesn’t remember what exactly he said, but he does remember the way Soonyoung’s voice rose when he talked about it, giddy and eager, mind racing faster than his mouth toward every next word. He wonders if Soonyoung would sound the same way talking about his landing the quad Lutz, if he knew what a Lutz was and how hard Jeonghan’s been working to get it. He hopes so. Before he even realizes he’s in the air, he is already coming back down, solid on his back foot with his other leg extended for balance. He hears Dennis cheer.

“Good job,” he calls, skating over to where Jeonghan stands in a daze. “It definitely needs some more work, but I won’t lie, Jeonghan.” His hand is warm when he claps it on Jeonghan’s shoulder, but Jeonghan hardly feels it. “As long as you want this, I think you’ve got it.” Slowly, feeling comes back into Jeonghan’s body, realization sinks into his brain. He smiles.

“I really want this,” he says. Dennis grins back like he already knew.

After practice is over, Jeonghan doesn’t want to go home. He knows Soonyoung is off work today, so he calls him. His shoulders are tense while he listens to the ringer go, but he can’t figure out why. When a click comes from the other end of the line, he notices he’s been holding his breath.

“Hello?” Soonyoung says. His voice is soft and sleepy, lazy as it rolls into the speaker. It’s a comfortable sound.

“Hey,” Jeonghan says. The hand still stuck in his pocket fidgets after a loose string in the lining. “Are you free today?”

“Yeah, I guess.” As he speaks, he sounds like he’s waking up. “Why?”

“Can I see you?”

His tongue freezes in his mouth. That wasn’t what he meant to say even if it was what he meant to feel. Something about the phrasing is awkward and oversaturated, makes it sound like all he wants to do is look at Soonyoung, just lay eyes on him and it’ll be enough. Maybe that’s true. Thinking about it makes him feel even stranger.

“Sure,” Soonyoung answers, nonchalant. Jeonghan’s just thinking too much. He’s done a lot of that lately. “Should I meet you somewhere?”

“I’m just leaving the rink now,” Jeonghan tells him, “so I can meet you wherever.” Soonyoung hums for a long time, low in his ear.

“Do you know where the bus stop is, by the CVS?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

Jeonghan thinks he knows which CVS and which bus stop, so he heads over as soon as he’s hung up the phone. When he arrives, he sits in the car to wait, parked in a row of eight other spaces, all empty. The parking lot is so empty, Jeonghan is sure he won’t miss Soonyoung’s arrival, but when eleven minutes pass without another car pulling in, he wonders if he somehow did. This place is a little out of the way—maybe he wasn’t that close to begin with? But if he wasn’t that close, shouldn’t he have suggested meeting somewhere else?

A sudden smack at Jeonghan’s window draws his attention. Beside him, he sees Soonyoung, standing and smiling with his fist resting against the glass. He does not see any car. “What are you doing?” he asks as he rolls the window down. Maybe Soonyoung was shopping the whole time, he guesses, but that doesn’t explain why he’s not holding any bags. Cheeks pink, Soonyoung’s smile twinkles from outside.

“Can you let me in?” he asks. Jeonghan clicks the unlock switch without thinking about it, and then Soonyoung is scurrying around front and climbing into the passenger seat. As he settles in, he buckles the seatbelt across his lap. “Thanks. It’s cold.”

“What are you doing?” Jeonghan asks again, and Soonyoung stares at him, eyes blank, blinks a few times. “Did you walk here?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Where from?”

“My apartment,” Soonyoung says. “I thought we could go hang out there.” A faint redness flowers on his cheeks. “Well, actually, maybe I, uh, should’ve asked if that was okay before I made you drive here and then drive me back home.”

Jeonghan doesn’t bother to try hiding the smile at his lips. “It’s fine,” he promises. “Is it close?”

“Super close.” Soonyoung pats his thighs and starts to explain the directions, arms following his mind’s map. “When we go out of here, we’ll take the first right, and then there are a few lights, then the post office, and then we’ll take a left, and it’s kind of back that way.” While he speaks, he turns around to indicate _back that way_ and spies Jeonghan’s bag in the back seat. It derails him immediately. “Is that all your skating stuff?” he bursts. “That bag is huge!”

“You’ve seen it before.”

“Really?” He scratches his chin. “I mean, I guess, but I never really looked at it before. Are your skates in there?”

“Of course.”

“That’s so cool.” After a beat of silence, Jeonghan coughs.

“So your apartment?”

“Right.”

It’s only about four minutes of driving away, and it’s not a very large complex. As they walk in, Soonyoung explains that he hasn’t really cleaned up and that Jeonghan shouldn’t make fun of him and that he’s sorry anyway. Inside, it isn’t nearly as messy as Soonyoung made it seem, but all the furniture hunches with the comfortable clutter of personality. Folded laundry that just hasn’t been put away, open comic books, DVDs in a stack that isn’t quite straight or even. Everything screams Soonyoung.

He moves blankets to the side of the couch to make room for them to sit on it, and while he pours two glasses of water in the mini kitchen, Jeonghan takes in the walls. They’re all covered in posters from top to bottom, some real people and some cartoons, and it takes a moment before he realizes what they are. One in the farthest corner displays a man with a short beard and some sort of machine strapped around his back. Jeonghan has never seen him before, but he knows who it is: Ray Eternal. The machine is some special thing Soonyoung’s certainly told him the name of before even though he can’t remember what it is. As he looks around more, he remembers them all, the way Soonyoung described almost every scene printed on the walls.

“Hey, I know who they are!” Jeonghan boasts when Soonyoung waddles in with two glasses of water. He grins and sets them down on the table.

“Yeah,” he says, flopping onto the couch. “Ray and Nina and Hardtack and Marco and Bella and Ray from the special limited edition copy of issue 283 and Ray from the th—wait, we haven’t talked about that one yet.” Jeonghan doesn’t remember any of those names except Ray. “I mean, I guess you can still tell it’s Ray, though.”

Jeonghan taps his temple with pride. “I’m learning.”

Soonyoung snickers and nestles further back into the cushions. “Honestly, I’m relieved,” he confesses. “Sometimes I feel like I just go on and on and on and you’re too nice to stop me.” Jeonghan snorts.

“You do go on and on and on,” he says, “but I’m not that nice. I just like listening to you talk.”

“Really?”

“You always sound so excited. Your voice is nice.” Jeonghan is well aware that is a little weird and transparent of him to say, but he doesn’t stop himself. He’s also well aware of Soonyoung four inches to his right and the way he scoots just a little bit closer. A sudden urge to hold Soonyoung’s hand wraps around his neck, and he can hardly breathe.

“So…” Soonyoung hums, and he sounds a little nervous. If Jeonghan looks over right now, his cheeks will probably be a little pink, but he can’t afford to look over. “Does that mean you’re not actually trying to get into _Ray Eternal_?”

“I mean…” Jeonghan sighs. “Not really.” He chances a peek at Soonyoung and regrets it immediately when he finds him frowning. “But you can still keep telling me about it.”

“But that’s… I don’t know.” Soonyoung huffs and slumps his shoulders. “I was hoping maybe today we could watch the first movie together.”

“We can watch it.”

“But you don’t even want to.”

“I don’t _not_ want to.”

“Are you sure?” He’s too obvious about his eagerness to put it on, anyway, so Jeonghan knows he doesn’t have to do any more convincing.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says. “Just play it.”

Soonyoung grabs for his remote to flick the TV on. “I think I already have the DVD in my Xbox,” he says, so he flicks to the right input, but it’s not the Xbox home screen. Instead, a YouTube window sits open, frozen on an unplayed video. Jeonghan hasn’t seen this video, but he recognizes the thumbnail. More specifically, he recognizes the outfit in the thumbnail. White sleeves jeweled with little glass gems ranging from light pink to deep magenta, snug around a torso with arms extended, hands covered in pastel coral gloves. It’s him.

“Oh,” Soonyoung says softly. “Uh.”

“Were you watching videos of me?”

“Uh, maybe, yeah.”

Jeonghan remembers Soonyoung said he watched videos before, but it only matters to him now. Thinking that Soonyoung has watched him skate more than just winding down after a long practice pulls at his stomach in a weird way, and seeing himself on Soonyoung’s TV screen is starting to take his mind out of his body. The cushions beneath him don’t feel real.

“I don’t really understand skating,” Soonyoung continues to explain, “so I thought maybe if I watched more, I would get it.” He huffs. “But I still don’t really.”

“I can explain it to you,” Jeonghan says before even a beat can pass. “Play the video. I’ll tell you what’s happening.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Jeonghan shrugs, easy, but his skin is still electric. “You’ve already explained a lot to me.” So Soonyoung hits play.

As Jeonghan watches the miniature version of himself skate out, everything comes back to him. This performance is from a smaller competition two years ago, and he remembers everything about it. He ran a solid program and didn’t miss any of his jumps, and he can still recall the feeling of standing on that podium to take the gold. The music overtakes him slowly, and he barely hangs on to the present.

“Okay.” Soonyoung’s voice comes to him through a veil of fog. “Tell me what’s going on.” Without moving his eyes from the screen, Jeonghan wets his lips.

“I’m building up speed first,” he says, softly, like a hushed audience member waiting for the first jump to stick. “If you don’t go fast enough before the jump, you won’t get high enough in the air or rotate enough, and then you can’t land.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” Slowly, Jeonghan on the screen rounds out his trail around the ice, and Jeonghan in real life inhales a tense breath. “The first jump is coming,” he says. “Quad Salchow.”

“What’s that?” Soonyoung asks, but instead of listening for the answer, he leans forward to watch, hand shooting to grab real Jeonghan’s leg when video Jeonghan makes the jump. The hand on his knee is warm but not uncomfortable, and Jeonghan is afraid to breathe and stir too much air, to make Soonyoung move it. Soonyoung makes no sound after the landing.

While Jeonghan means to keep explaining, he knows he’s not doing a very good job. Only the odd word or two escapes his lips every few seconds, the names of spins and jumps and steps Soonyoung will never remember or know how to differentiate. Jeonghan stops holding his breath after he lands the final jump, but beside him, Soonyoung is still riveted. It’s only when he squeezes that Jeonghan notices their hands are entwined.

“What’s this?” Soonyoung asks, only his second real question, as Jeonghan on the screen leans back and reaches out to either side, skates gliding over the ice in parallel. The music swells, and the camera angle shifts closer to fill the screen with Jeonghan’s face. His eyes are closed and his chest is heaving. Just over the top of the music, the cheers of the crowd are audible.

“Ina Bauer,” Jeonghan says. “It’s called an Ina Bauer.”

“You’re beautiful,” Soonyoung tells him. Jeonghan isn’t sure if he means _you’re_ or _it’s_ , and he chokes on thinking about it. When the video fades out amid cheers and tossed bouquets, Jeonghan turns to look at Soonyoung. His eyes are bright and shining, smile small, and Jeonghan feels like a real spectator for once, looking with his eyes and silently taking in. He feels Soonyoung’s hand in his.

“Do you get it a little more?” Jeonghan asks.

Soonyoung nods even though Jeonghan knows he doesn’t, couldn’t possibly. “I think so,” he says. Gingerly, Soonyoung tightens his grip around Jeonghan’s palm. “I want to try it. Skating, I mean.”

“You do?”

“Can we go next time?”

Dennis wouldn’t be happy about that, Jeonghan thinks. Soonyoung is what keeps him from thinking about skating too much, and if he goes with Soonyoung to the skating rink, he’ll be thinking about it. Yet, as he looks into Soonyoung’s eyes, he knows he won’t say no. He never really would have. Parts of him think he couldn’t.

“Sure.”

 

Next time, they go to a public skating rink a lot further than the one where Jeonghan practices. He makes certain not to tell Dennis about it even though he doesn’t think it should count as skating, and he also makes sure to wear a scarf that covers most of his face against the slim chance someone might recognize him. As Nationals draw closer, the weather gets colder, and Soonyoung’s nose is bright red when he arrives.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he chirps, bouncing on his heels. “Let’s go in.”

Being that it’s a weeknight, the usual crowds of children and teens are absent, and the ice is dotted sparsely with loners and couples, some with children barely old enough to toddle shoved into too-large skates to be dragged slowly along. Soonyoung looks around at everything like he’s never been to a rink before, and Jeonghan guesses that aside from work, maybe he hasn’t. Driving a Zamboni around the ice is nothing at all like skating across it.

Soonyoung gushes excitement even while Jeonghan laces his skates up—it’s harder than regular shoes, he says—but right before they step onto the ice, he freezes. Panic sets into his eyes. “Wait a second,” he says. “Never mind. I can’t do it. What if I fall?” He grabs Jeonghan’s arm and squeezes. “I’m going to fall.”

“Everybody falls sometimes,” Jeonghan tells him, but that doesn’t seem like the answer he wants to hear. “Relax. We won’t be going fast enough for it to hurt.”

“But what if we are?”

“Just come on.” Jeonghan grabs his hand and pretends to be natural about it, but it’s too clumsy and awkward when he tries to lace their fingers together. His cheeks warm. He’s not used to being so clumsy this close to the ice. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall.” Soonyoung breathes out slowly.

“Okay. If you say so.”

Their initial transition onto the ice is shaky because Soonyoung won’t move his feet to go, and after they’ve crossed the threshold, Soonyoung himself is shaky, completely dependent on Jeonghan’s hand to keep him upright and moving. For someone who looked so excited only five minutes ago, he’s certainly unsteady now, feet unsure and very timid as he clings both to the wall and Jeonghan.

“You’ve really never skated before?” Jeonghan asks. He tries to pull Soonyoung along with a little more drive, but he’s too resolute in his determination not to move. “Not even once?”

“Maybe once,” Soonyoung huffs, eyes down at his feet, “when I was a kid. I don’t remember.”

“Why do you work at an ice rink, then?”

“That’s just the place that hired me.” The longer Soonyoung spends staring at his feet, the more frustrated he becomes, and it shines in his tone. “It’s not like it’s my job to skate at work. I’m basically a janitor.”

“Alright then, janitor.” Jeonghan stops trying to move and waits for Soonyoung to notice. “Look. Instead of looking at your feet, look at mine. I’ll show you how.”

“Okay,” he says. “Don’t go too fast.”

“I won’t,” Jeonghan promises. “Now look. Put your feet like this.” He tilts his ankles until he’s on the inside blades and watches until Soonyoung begrudgingly does the same.

“This is uncomfortable.”

“This is the part you push off from. You push away and straighten up.” He demonstrates as best he can in place and hopes Soonyoung understands. “Get it? And then you do it with the other foot.”  Soonyoung blinks slowly.

“I think I got it.”

“Do you wanna try it?”

“Why don’t you do it first and show me?”

“Alright.” Gently, Jeonghan releases Soonyoung’s hand and wipes his clammy palm on his coat, then lines up with the wall and glides forward for one step, then another. Then he turns against the natural flow of skate traffic to look back at Soonyoung, seven feet away and rooted to his spot. “Think you can do that?” Jeonghan calls. Soonyoung frowns at him.

“You make it look so easy.”

“Because it is easy.”

“For you!” He sulks while Jeonghan laughs at him, knuckles still white on the edge of the wall, and then Jeonghan skates a little bit back toward him,

“Okay. Skate to me.” Soonyoung gapes.

“Impossible.”

“You can do it,” Jeonghan promises. “It’s, like, one push. You just have to let go of the wall and do it.”

“Can’t you just come hold my hand and do it with me?”

“I’ll hold your hand when you get over here,” Jeonghan says. He’s glad he has a scarf to hide the burning in his cheeks. “Come on. It’s easy.”

Gradually, with an unsure inhale, Soonyoung releases his hold on the wall and balls his fists at his sides. Jeonghan tells him to hold his arms out for balance, so he does it, and Jeonghan figures getting him this far is already half the battle won. The way he pushes off is the exact same way a child would, uncertain and intent on staring down, and he doesn’t go as far as he should with a single push, but he also doesn’t fall over. That might be the whole battle won. Jeonghan skates back again to meet him in the middle.

“That wasn’t so bad, huh?”

“You were right,” Soonyoung grumbles. “You aren’t nice.”

“Hey, you didn’t fall.”

“But I thought I was going to.” He grabs for Jeonghan’s hand until he’s got it clasped, fingers locked tight together at the knuckles. “Okay, now let’s go. Not too fast.”

“I won’t let you fall,” Jeonghan says, and they begin a lazy lap around the ice.

Jeonghan thought coming here would make him think about skating, but it’s hard to draw the connection when they’re so different. Normally, he’s cold all over, going much faster, head clear and eyes forward. Today, he’s burning with warmth from his hand to his chest, skating so slowly he barely feels like he’s moving, and all he’s looking at is Soonyoung to his right. The only thing this has in common with skating as he knows it is the sheet of ice below them.

Going this slow is bizarre. He’s sure he hasn’t skated so leisurely since he first started, and it’s so strange to have no jump to prepare for, no steps or spins to do. As they make their way around, weaving past the other skaters who stand still waiting on their children to gain footing, Jeonghan feels like he is floating. Skating usually feels so lonely to him, lonely in an elegant sort of way, two blades alone carving swirls into the ice, but the unusual extra weight of pulling Soonyoung alongside him is an unwavering reminder that he is not alone today, that this is not the skating he’s used to.

When they’ve completed their first full lap around the rink, they continue straight into their second, just a little bit faster. Soonyoung seems like he’s getting the hang of it more as they go, and though his hold on Jeonghan’s hand doesn’t relent, he does start to skate more on his own, lighter and lighter where Jeonghan is pulling him. By the time they’ve completed three circles around, Soonyoung is grinning ear to ear.

“I think I got it now,” he says to Jeonghan as they whiz by an old woman leaned up against the wall.

“Do you want me to let go?”

“Not really.”

“I don’t think you’re going to fall.”

“I don’t think so either,” Soonyoung says, “but still.”

“Don’t you wanna try doing it on your own for a little bit?”

“I guess,” Soonyoung sighs. “Maybe for a little bit.”

“Okay.” Jeonghan lets go of his hand and tries not to be embarrassed again at the sweat dewing his own palm. “Here we go. I’ll be right next to you.”

“Alright,” Soonyoung says like he doesn’t believe it. He’s immediately less sure of himself, smile waning, but he doesn’t look like he’s afraid he’ll fall. The winning of the battle by now is truly complete.

Strangely, after a seeming forever of bearing Soonyoung by the hand, Jeonghan feels like he doesn’t weigh enough to stay grounded. His skates fly over the ice, quick and quicker, until he’s flying in golden rings around the rink. Not much later, though, he remembers he’s supposed to be staying next to Soonyoung and notices that beside him is not where Soonyoung is. Coming to a stop, he turns around to see Soonyoung gaining from far behind him.

Even from here, Jeonghan can tell he’s going too fast, and he knows he doesn’t know how to slow down, to stop. Should he go back to meet him? He feels guilty at the sight of Soonyoung racing after him, more than he knows he ought to, and even though he thinks about skating back to cover lost ground, he knows there’s no point. Soonyoung has picked up too much fearless speed, and he’ll just end up pulling them both to the ice if Jeonghan grabs hold of him. Even if he doesn’t, it looks like that’ll happen. As Soonyoung nears, his eyes widen with the realization that he doesn’t know how to stop himself, and all Jeonghan can do is wait for him to arrive.

They crash to the ground with little fanfare, most of Soonyoung’s blow absorbed by Jeonghan’s body below him. “You left me in the dust,” Soonyoung huffs, “and you promised I wouldn’t fall.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m probably hurting worse.” Soonyoung glares like that doesn’t make him feel better. Jeonghan sighs. “I got carried away.”

“I knew you would.” His face scrunches when he plants both hands on either side of Jeonghan’s head to push himself up, wincing at the feel of both palms flat against the ice. “Next time, carry me away with you.”

Jeonghan’s entire back is freezing, yet his chest his hot. He watches Soonyoung find a shaky way to his feet, then squat and extend a hand to Jeonghan to help him up. When he takes it, it’s somewhere between polar cold and star hot, somewhere far from lukewarm. All of him glitters.

“C’mon, get up. You aren’t allowed to let go of my hand this time.”

“You wanna keep going?”

“Sure,” Soonyoung says with a shrug. He smiles at Jeonghan when they’re both at full height again, cheeks a giddy pink. “It’s fun now that it’s not scary. Besides,” and he laces his fingers through Jeonghan’s again, soft and warm, “the fall wasn’t that bad.” Slowly, they push forward to keep going, and Jeonghan thinks this might be what love is.

 

Nationals arrive before Jeonghan thinks he’s ready for them. He passes through a blur of hitting the quad Lutz and missing it, of sleeping and not, and then he is skating off after his short program to a chorus of cheers. He meets Dennis in the kiss-and-cry, still not quite sure whether the feeling he’s just skated is real or this is just an endless dream. His eyes glaze over while they announce the score, but Dennis pats him on the back and ropes him into a sort of halfway hug, so he figures he must have done well.

Even though the competition’s already here, Jeonghan feels distanced from himself, weird and imbalanced, and while he managed the short program, he doesn’t predict things will go well in the free skate if he can’t get focused. In the break between the two halves of the competition, Jeonghan goes to one of the training rooms to stretch his legs and eat the bag of trail mix he brought for himself. As he stretches, he leans his back against the mirrored wall, cold through the light jacket he has on between performance outfits. The chill is welcome against his shoulders. He closes his eyes.

A presence slides down to sit beside him only a few minutes later, making itself known through the soft rustle of cloth against the mirror and the light bump of a knee against Jeonghan’s. Jeonghan cracks his eye open and is met with a smile, wide and sincere. He blinks slowly and relaxes his extended leg.

“Junhui,” he says, and the man next to him glitters. “What brings you in here?”

“Came to do some stretching of my own,” Junhui tells him. “Didn’t expect to see my favorite biggest rival.” Junhui is the holder of the silver medal from two years ago and the pewter medal from last year. Just like Jeonghan, he’s hoping to snag the gold, but he’s still nice about it. “That was a great short program.”

“Thanks.” Jeonghan sighs and stretches his other leg out, tossing back another handful of trail mix. Junhui laughs and elbows him.

“At least compliment mine, you dick.”

“Sorry.” The back of Jeonghan’s knee burns in a good way when he pulls at the tips of his toes. “Just trying to focus. You skated like a champ.”

“You’re usually so chatty,” Junhui muses. “Something up?”

“I don’t know.” Jeonghan eases up the pressure on his toes, but the burning doesn’t quite fade away. “I just feel out of it today.” He knocks his head into the glass behind him. “I’m worried about my free skate.” Junhui hums.

“As much as I would love to tell you to fuck up your free skate,” he says, “I like skating against you because you’re hard to beat. Don’t make it too easy for me.” He grunts and pulls himself upright, a human tower leering down from over a well-meaning grin. “Maybe you should call your mom and have her psych you up.”

“You going somewhere?”

“I’ve got my own call to make,” Junhui confesses, waving his phone around carelessly. “Jihoon made me promise to call before I start warming up again, and he’s got his own form of pep talk to give me.” His eyes shine fondly over drooping shoulders. “I’ll see you again for the free skate. Get your head in the game!” Just before he leaves, he claps his hands together loudly, points them both at Jeonghan, and shouts. Then he is gone just as quickly as he came.

Jeonghan doesn’t suspect calling his mom will help much—he called her already before the whole competition began—but it does give him an idea. He pulls his phone out of his bag and scrolls slowly through the contacts, then hits dial and listens to the tone ring in his ear.

“Hello?” Soonyoung’s voice on the other end is confused, but not for drowsiness. He sounds like he’s out shopping and didn’t expect to receive a call this week at all, let alone today. Though if he is shopping, the supermarket is much noisier than usual.

“Hey,” Jeonghan says. Soonyoung chuckles just a little.

“Hey. Why are you calling me?”

“Do you know what today is?”

“Sure,” Soonyoung hums. “Your birthday.” Before Jeonghan can say anything, he continues with, “I’m joking. It’s nationals. Right?”

“Yeah.” Jeonghan’s chest swells, just a little bit. It’s such a small thing. “Are you watching? I think it’s being broadcast on one of the sports channels.”

“Of course!”

“Really? You sound like you’re out somewhere.”

“Uh,” Soonyoung coughs, “I mean, I am, but I’ll be back home in time.”

“You don’t have to watch it.”

“No, I’m _watching_ it,” Soonyoung insists. “Why are you calling, anyway? Shouldn’t you be, like, warming up?”

“I’m stretching,” Jeonghan says, “but I don’t know. I just feel off today.” He chews at his bottom lip and listens to the silence between them. “I thought maybe it would help if I talked to you for a little bit.”

“Jeez, I don’t know how to help.” In the following moments of silence, Jeonghan is sure he can hear Soonyoung thinking. “Yeah, I really don’t know what to say.”

“Just tell me you think I’ll do a good job,” Jeonghan supplies.

“You’ll do a great job,” Soonyoung responds, filled with fresh gusto. “I know you will! You’re going to be so great and you’re gonna land your… uh… special thing that you have.”

“Quad Lutz.”

“Yeah. You’ll land it.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” There’s a loud, indistinct noise on Soonyoung’s end, and he coughs again. “Hey, I gotta hang up, but good luck. I know you’ll do the best.”

“Promise you’ll make it home in time to watch?”

“Swear my life on it.”

For a thick second, Jeonghan considers saying, “I love you.” He isn’t sure if it’s too early or too late or just the right time, but he thinks about it. He thinks he wants to. Just as he decides he might, Soonyoung hums a tiny goodbye into the speaker, and then there is only the dial tone. If he lands the quad Lutz, he tells himself, then he’ll say it. If he wins the gold. He’ll say it. He will.

Dennis comes in to fetch him not much later, urges him to get changed and ready and back into his groove for the next and final leg of the competition. Soonyoung didn’t say much helpful, but talking to him helped anyway, and even though he doesn’t feel perfect, now he has something to work with. When he takes the ice for warm-up, he’s feeling a new burn in all his muscles, a new chill over all his skin. Junhui smiles at him from where he runs his own jumps on the other side of the ice, and Jeonghan feels it pulling at his stomach.

All the world is quiet when Jeonghan skates onto the ice for his long program. Before him, the crowds rise in rows of stadium seats, all murmuring amongst themselves as they watch with patient eyes. Jeonghan skates to the center and drops his arms to his sides, tilts his chin down until all he can see is the ice. From lightyears away, he hears the announcer call his name. After a beat of silence, the opening notes of his music whisper through the air, and he looks up. There are only two things in the world: Jeonghan and the ice.

There is something beautifully lonely about skating. Jeonghan skates in silent curves across his white universe, and he feels every part of that loneliness in him. No sound reaches him but that of his own blades gliding across the ice, no sensation but the glittering pulse of the music just under his skin and the biting chill of the air just above it. The quad Lutz is the first jump of the program, the most important, and it’s coming up soon. Jeonghan needs to focus. He needs to focus.

But he thinks about Soonyoung.

Around him, everything slows, lazy air sticking to his sleeves, and he thinks about Soonyoung. He wonders if Soonyoung made it home in time, if he’s watching right now. He wonders if Soonyoung found the right channel. Maybe the chances are low, but Jeonghan hopes he did. He’s never been anywhere near this worried over whether his parents will see him, but he hopes Soonyoung is watching now. If he lands this jump, he can picture the way Soonyoung will smile, and god, does he wish he had some way to see it for real. At the very least, he has to make that smile happen. It’s all he thinks about when he leaps into the air.

Only as he’s sliding backwards on one blade again does he realize he landed, was even spinning. The roar of the crowd is dull and infinite, swallows him without touching him, and he wants to pretend Soonyoung is part of it, somehow louder than all the rest, cheering with a huge grin on his face. Jeonghan swivels into a step sequence, and he knows as he does that he wants to tell Soonyoung he loves him. When he breezes through the quad Salchow triple Axel combo, he realizes he can.

Just before the program is over, Jeonghan lines his feet up parallel and bends one knee, leans back to soak in the infinite nothingness above through his chest. As he does it, he feels the air whipping through his hair, and he closes his eyes, lets the music come back to life around him. The program ends with one final spin, with Jeonghan’s hands reaching up into the air, toward the stars they can never touch, faster and faster until he grinds to a halt and holds his arms out in time with the final note. Chest heaving, he looks out at the crowd.

Their applause is deafening, and bouquets fall from the stands like snow, landing on the ice with gentle thuds in a lazy rainbow. Jeonghan’s eyes gravitate toward one body in the midst of all of them, clutching tightly to its bouquet while everyone else throws theirs down. Even from this distance, there’s no mistaking that face, those eyes. Soonyoung. There is no way they could look into each other’s eyes, yet they do, Soonyoung beaming while Jeonghan’s jaw goes slack. He can’t be here. Yet he is. He is. Numb and slow, Jeonghan finds his route back off the ice to meet Dennis and hear his scores. He’s here.  

Dennis tells him he did such a good job, he’s come so far, he’s worked so hard and he nailed his program and he gave absolutely everything he could have. He says he’s so proud no matter who walks home with gold, and Jeonghan barely listens enough to nod and say thank you, because all he can think about is the sight of Soonyoung, holding onto his flowers like he’ll die if he lets go, smiling so wide he’s almost crying. Dennis pushes Jeonghan onto the small couch and grips his knee like death while they wait.

Slowly, everything comes back into focus, into real time. Dennis’ fingernails dig crescents through Jeonghan’s thin costume pants, and they both hold onto their breath while they wait for the announcer to get on with it. Just before he begins speaking, Dennis mumbles something Jeonghan doesn’t hear, and then it’s all lost as the voice echoes around them, only barely decipherable.

The guy reads out a number, then another, and Jeonghan forgets them both as soon as he hears them, but his chest doesn’t forget. His lungs stretch into his ribs, and even though his brain forgets the digits, his chest reminds him over and over that they were good numbers, great numbers, better than he could have expected. Tears squeeze out of his eyes and run hot trails down to his chin, and Dennis hugs him until he can’t breathe.

As the rest of the skaters run their programs, Jeonghan watches breathless. He doesn’t want them to fall, but he doesn’t want them to be perfect. He needs something—a fumbled step, a shortened jump, a spin that doesn’t sit quite low enough. Watching stresses him out, but not watching stresses him out more. The last skater of the competition is Junhui, and his program looks so flawless. Jeonghan keeps holding his breath. When the announcer calls his score, Jeonghan’s chest tells him he should celebrate.

Junhui stands to his left, on the bronze pedestal, while they confer the medals. As much as Jeonghan wants to care about the shiny gold disk around his neck, it barely touches him. Everything has felt like a dream since he spotted Soonyoung in the crowd, and even as he thumbs at the medal, as Junhui reaches to pat him on the shoulder, it won’t sink in. Maybe it is all a dream, he thinks as he skates off the ice for a final time. Maybe it always has been. When Dennis guides him back into the warm-up lounge to grab his bags, he doesn’t care.

The phone against his ear is cold after hours abandoned in his bag, but it warms up readily against his cheek. It rings two times before there is a click. Soonyoung’s voice comes cautiously. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Jeonghan asks.

“Where am I?”

“I saw you. You never went home.”

“I’m, uh…” Before he’s said anything, Jeonghan’s slung his bag around his shoulder and started on a dash toward the closest exit he knows. He doesn’t usually run, doesn’t usually like to, but his legs feel right now like they must. “I’m outside. There’s a sign, and a few benches. A sculpture of a… bird?”

“Stay there,” Jeonghan says, heaving. “Don’t move.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it.” From the other end, Soonyoung’s laugh tinkles quietly through.

“Okay,” he says, and Jeonghan hangs up to focus on running.

As he bursts out into the light and the chill, he tries to think about the sculpture. He knows he saw it when he got here, but that was before the grounds were overtaken by swimming crowds. With a breath to brace himself, he breaks into a sprint in the direction he thinks he remembers and hopes it’s right.

Every person he passes watches him run by like a maniac, and maybe he is one. In his rush to find Soonyoung, he didn’t change out of his performance wear, and even his jacket still sits wadded together in his bag. He feels the wind cutting through him, ache rippling up his legs, but he can see the sculpture now. It’s small and far, but he can see it. Which means he can almost see Soonyoung. So he keeps running.

The crowd starts to thin when he gets closer, and Jeonghan can just make out Soonyoung’s silhouette in front of a pair of benches, head turning from side to side while he waits for Jeonghan to reach him. His hands still clutch their bouquet dutifully, plastic crinkling around the pressure of his fingers. He turns when he hears Jeonghan’s hurried footsteps, and his eyes are so soft when they fall on Jeonghan, his smile so small. Jeonghan wants to run right into him, but he stops a few feet away.

“You came,” Jeonghan says, chest quaking for breath he hasn’t quite caught back yet. “You said you were going to watch at home.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Soonyoung says with a shy beam.

“And you brought flowers.”

“I wanted to throw them with everyone else,” Soonyoung admits, “but I thought you might not even get them if I did. So I kept them to give you myself.” He takes one, two, three steps forward, holds the flowers out so they touch Jeonghan’s chest. Their petals are warm. “I can’t believe you won gold. That’s so cool.” Soonyoung’s eyes glitter with stars. “It was really amazing, Jeonghan. I wish you could have seen yourself.”

“Do you?”

“Definitely.” His face sparks. “And I recognized that thing at the end. Ina something?” He stretches one arm out and tilts his chin up in a subdued imitation. “It was so... you were so beautiful.”

Jeonghan takes the flowers from Soonyoung’s hands and stares at them. He feels tears welling at the corners of his eyes again as he does, and he’s not used to crying so much in one day, but he lets himself. Soonyoung reaches to grab at Jeonghan’s hands when he spots the tears, fingertips dancing over his knuckles, but all Jeonghan can do is squeeze his eyes shut. When he looks at Soonyoung again, he fixes him with a smile.

“Are you okay?” Soonyoung asks, gentle. Jeonghan takes in a breath, and his chest his trembling. Another breath. Another.

“I love you,” he says. Soonyoung’s face is blank as he stares back.

“What?”

“I love you.” Jeonghan steps closer, swinging the arm holding his bouquet around the back of Soonyoung’s neck. “I don’t know if it’s too soon to say that, but I promised myself I would if I won the gold. And I did it.”

Soonyoung flushes a tender pink, hands hovering around Jeonghan’s sides like they aren’t sure where is safe to land. Eventually, they decide on his waist, but his touch is so light they could fly away if Jeonghan stops paying attention. “Really?” Soonyoung manages, wetting his lips. “You do?”

“I really do,” is what Jeonghan considers saying, but instead, he tightens his arms around Soonyoung and pulls him until their lips meet. The edge of the bouquet tickles his jaw where it wraps around full circle, but Soonyoung is soft and sweet and wonderful, and Jeonghan never realized until right now how badly he’s been wanting to do this. Soonyoung blinks at him slowly when they part again, face warming from lilacs to roses.

“I don’t think it’s too soon,” he rushes to say, stumbling over himself. “I mean, I don’t think so. I think I love you too. Also. I think.” He colors further when Jeonghan laughs, but his smile holds strong just the same. His palms are heavy now. “Aren’t you cold, by the way?”

“Very,” Jeonghan tells him, “but I really wanted to find you.”

“Let’s hurry up and go then,” Soonyoung blusters, winding out of Jeonghan’s hold to walk by his side. “I don’t want you to freeze.”

As they walk, Jeonghan uses his free hand to find Soonyoung’s and lace their fingers together. It feels so funny to think of how much more time he could’ve been spending with Soonyoung’s hand in his just like this if only he realized how much he wanted to. It’s funnier to think how skating is only ever the second thing on his mind anymore. Their arms swing back and forth with each step, a slow bud of warmth that melts into them from the center.

“You know,” Soonyoung says softly, “there’s a scene just like this in the 314th issue, with Marco and Hardtack.” Jeonghan hums a hushed sort of half-laugh back to him.

“You’ll have to show me,” he says.

When they make it to the parking lot, snow starts falling. It’s gradual and gentle, and the ground isn’t quite cold enough for it to stick, but it falls nonetheless, dancing to the concrete all around. There is something beautiful about the way not a single flake touches them on their walk. Something very beautiful, but not at all lonely.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so so so much for reading! after eternities of promising soonhan, i have finally delivered, and i hope it's something that everyone who reads is able to enjoy! i like this au because i think figure skating is really beautiful and jeonghan would be beautiful doing it, and maybe that's not a very good reason to like my au but I DON'T CARE i'm liking it anyway. if you read, i hope you liked it too, and if you did like it, i hope you'll let me know! with recent computer debacles, i nearly lost 11k of this, and thank god i didn't because i honestly was not about to have the energy to write it again... thanks especially to lianne for always pioneering soonhan for the gold they are and letting the rest of us soak in the light! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, and i'll see you all (maybe) again with something else hopefully soon!


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